(sleep wake hope and then)
by isabellasnow
Summary: We are inextricably bound, for this day and every day that follows. Winter may come and time may tear us apart, but I believe there is another world waiting for us. A better world. And I'll be waiting for you there.
1. A Proper Lady

**A/N: I'm not a fan of long author's notes, but since this is the first chapter, I figure I should get some things out of the way.**

**1) Arya is 14, Jon is 17, Rob is 18, Sansa is 16, Bran is 12, Rickon is 5. I like these ages. We're just going to roll with it.**

**2) I might write some characters OOC; deal with it. I like them that way. Like Catelyn in this chapter, for example. I know she's being mean. I never liked her in the books anyway.**

**3) R+L=J**

**4) In my world, JonxArya is canon. If you don't like it, don't read my story. Or better yet, ****_do _****read my story and let me convince you :)**

**5) This is my first fanfic EVER. First thing I've ever written that wasn't for school. I love suggestions! But please be kind. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except the plot. You can't have it.**

* * *

Arya came rushing into the hall, breathless and grinning.

"Mother! Oh, Mother! I've just had the most incredible adventure!" Her words tumbled out as she puffed up her chest with pride. "I went out riding and the horse spooked and ran off with me on her, and I'm positive I would have been killed if I hadn't gotten off - what's wrong?" Arya was looking at her Mother's pinched face and shaking head.

Lady Catelyn drifted her eyes disdainfully over Arya's disheveled appearance. "Gods. How did I ever bear such a child?" She shook her head again. "Just look at the state of you. The king's party will be here today and you look like a wildling."

"But Mother!" Arya protested. "It was the horse! I had to jump off and that's how I got so muddy!" She tried comb the tangles from her hair, but her mother flicked her hand away."I'll brush it!" Arya pleaded.

"Yes, I expect you will. Perhaps while you're at it you could at least try to pretend you're worthy of the Stark name, and not be such a wretched disappointment." Catelyn sighed. "Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't gotten off in time."

Arya's eyes welled with tears at the coldness in her mother's voice, the rejection stinging like a slap. She wiped away the traitorous drops on her cheeks and tried to lift her chin in defiance but her mother had already turned back to her needlework and could spare no more time for her youngest daughter. Catelyn did not look up as she listened to Arya's quickening footsteps fleeing from the hall.

* * *

Jon was on his way in from the training yard when he heard Arya's raised voice coming from the hall. He knew the Lady Catelyn was inside so he waited beside the door and listened as she dismissed Arya and coldly expressed her disappointment. Jon had to resist the urge to jump to Arya's defence as he listened to the cruel exchange. He knew he would only hurt the situation when Lady Catelyn was involved. Arya brushed by him without looking up as she rushed out the door. He let her go and then followed slowly to her chambers.

Jon found Arya seated on the floor, slumped against her bedpost. Her hands shook in her lap and her breech-clad legs were splayed out in front of her. Her dark hair was matted, and though it hung in front of her face, it was not enough to hide her wet and shining cheeks. Jon said nothing as he crossed the distance between them and slid to the ground beside her. He reached into her lap and took her smooth hands in his rough ones, calming their shaking. It cut Jon to his core to see Arya like this. He was the only person who knew how fiercely Arya longed for the Lady Catelyn's approval. Arya could hide her desire from the others, but not him. Not he who knew her better than he knew himself. She was his other half; they were like two sides of a coin, two halves of the same person, more brother and sister than any of the other Stark children. Seeing her so defeated was pure torture; the entire room seemed to darken with her sorrow.

"It's awful," Arya mumbled, her voice rough. "I hate it when she looks at me. I can tell that she wishes she were seeing something else. Someone like Sansa, I suppose." She sniffled loudly.

"It could be worse," Jon began, hoping he could coax a smile from her. "At least she doesn't look at you and wish she were seeing nothing at all."

The corners of her mouth twitched. _Almost a smile. It will have to do._

Wordlessly, Jon got to his feet and pulled Arya with him. She stood limply, shoulders drooping under an unseen weight. He raised her arms above her head, and pulled off her tunic, stolen from Bran's closet, no doubt. He crouched and pulled off her boots. Arya said nothing as he removed her breeches as well, leaving her in her smallclothes. She was still weeping quietly, lost to her own troubles. Jon retrieved a cloth and wet it in the basin of water on the dresser. Slowly, carefully, he cleaned the mud first from her face, then the pale delicate skin of her neck, then her hands, and her arms. Jon was careful to avoid the skin beneath her jawline, where he knew she was especially ticklish. He knew everything about her. Her ticklish spots, the way she liked her back rubbed after a nightmare, the little birthmark under her hair on the back of her neck. He couldn't help but be glad that he was the only one who could boast such knowledge of his little sister. He pulled a gown from Arya's closet, gray to match her eyes - the eyes they shared, like so many other things, and slid it over her head.

"Will you brush my hair?" Arya asked sheepishly. "Like when I was little?"

When Arya was little, she would only let Jon touch her hair. She would shriek and howl loud enough to raise the dead down in the crypts if anyone but him came near her with a brush.

"Of course," Jon said tenderly. She seemed such a child in this moment. So vulnerable. It wasn't often that Arya showed this side of herself, even to him.

He led her to the vanity and sat her on the stool. As he began to gently comb the snarls from her hair he watched her reflected expression in the mirror soften and relax. It was nice to know that, even with Arya almost a woman grown, this simple ritual still calmed her. Jon brushed her hair until the dark waves rippled and shone in the afternoon light from the open window. He slowly and a bit clumsily pulled her hair into a single braid down her back.

"I'm afraid I'm not too good at braiding," Jon admitted. "But I know this is how you like it."

"Don't be stupid," Arya chided, her mood clearly lifting.

"Well look at you!" Jon cried mockingly as she stood. "Do my eyes deceive me, or are you almost a proper lady?"

He laughed freely at his own joke as Arya knit her eyebrows and stuck out her bottom lip. In a flash, she sent a punch towards Jon's face, but he anticipated the familiar retaliation and danced out of her reach.

"Not quite yet, I see!" He laughed again, and this time Arya joined him, their laughter echoing loudly through the castle.

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**Please review! I love suggestions, and I really do want to keep this story going if you're interested. **


	2. Give Me A Reason

**A/N: Thank you for your kind reviews! I won't trouble you with any more talk. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for the plot. **

* * *

Arya chased after her direwolf rather half-heartedly. Training her was proving to be far more challenging than she had expected.

"No!" Arya called as she followed the wolf into the godswood. "Oh please come back! Don't go in there!"

She took a deep breath and prepared to call for the wolf again, but stopped short when she heard voices. She ducked behind a bush and peered over the top to see her father and her Uncle Benjen lounging beneath the heart tree.

"So I hear he wants to join the watch," Benjen said. _Who?_ Arya thought.

"It's true," Ned replied, shaking his head. Arya strained to hear over the wind rustling through the branches of the heart tree.

"Does he not realize that a life at the wall does not hold the glory it once did? He won't be among honorable men," Benjen replied. Arya yearned to know who they were speaking of.

"No, perhaps not," Ned admitted. "But he wants to forge his own path. As much as I hate to let him go, I know this can no longer be his place."

"Well," Benjen sighed. "If Jon wants to take the black and you support him, I'll hold my tongue."

Arya did not stay to hear the rest of their conversation. She began backing away from her hiding place, her footsteps hurried and stumbling. She was going to be sick. _Jon is leaving me? He can't._ Arya tore from the godswood and hurried to her chambers, ignoring the questioning looks she received from servants in the halls. Arya and Jon were inseparable. From the moment she was born, Jon had always been her favorite, and they had grown to be more than just half-siblings. They understood each other, finished each other's sentences. They had made plans to travel the world together. They would go beyond the wall and see the wildlings and the giants, then to Old Town and Braavos and across the Narrow Sea. Arya wanted to ride with a Khalasar and learn the languages of the Free Cities. Jon would be by her side. The two of them against the world. But he was leaving her. _How can this be? What's changed?_

* * *

Arya was angrily shoving her belongings into the large trunk when Jon entered with a long wrapped bundle under his arm.

"Hello, little sister," Jon said lovingly, reaching out to muss her hair as he made his way to the bed. Arya ducked to avoid the familiar gesture. Not looking up to see the hurt she knew would be in his eyes. _Him, hurt? Him, rejected? What about me?_

"What is it now?" Jon sighed and sat down on the end of her bed.

"So is it true, then?" Arya snapped, still not looking up from her packing.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jon said guiltily. That was all the confirmatin Arya needed.

"You're leaving me!" She cried, finally fixing him with an accusing glare. "You're going to join the night's watch! How could you leave me?" She tossed one of her books against the wall in anger, and it bounced off, falling open on the floor. "I'm your Arya and you're my Jon, we belong to each other. We're the same person!" She pleaded. "What about all of our plans? They'll never happen now because you're going to spend the rest of your life there, and we'll never see eachother again!"

Jon shot up from the bed, his fists clenched in anger. "Me?" He spat. "Leave you?"

"What do you mean?" Arya asked.

"I'm not leaving you!" Jon laughed darkly. "You're leaving me! They're sending you off to king's landing where you'll be tamed and groomed into a proper lady, and once you've flowered they'll marry you off to some southron lord! You won't even be my Arya anymore. You'll be the Arya Lady Catelyn always wanted, isn't that what you desire?" He looked down at her.

"Isn't it?" he asked again, daring her to deny it.

"They could never tame me," Arya whispered, head down.

"Oh you say that now!" Jon began again, loudly. "It's a different world in the south, and I won't be there to protect you."

"But you don't have to go to the wall!" Arya was almost begging now. Arya never begged.

"Don't I?" Jon laughed again this time, even less sincerely than before. "Give me a good reason why not. Why Arya? What can you promise me that will make me stay? Can you promise me a life where I can be something more than Ned Stark's bastard son? Can you promise me that?" He was somewhere between shouting and whipsering, his words coming out in an angry hiss.

Arya said nothing, she only looked at him with her gray eyes. Begging him to understand what she could not say. That she would never make it without him. That she could not bare a life without him.

"No," he said shaking his head. "I didn't think so."

He gestured to the bundle still on the bed as he turned to go, "Stick 'em with the pointy end, and you won't need me to protect you."

Arya reached for his hand as he brushed past her, but her fingers grasped at empty air.

"Jon..." she whispered, but he didn't hear. His footsteps were already echoing down the hall outside her door.

* * *

Arya didn't see Jon for the rest of the day, and she went to bed with a weight in the pit of her stomach. The next morning, as the party traveling to King's Landing readied itself for departure, she spied Jon laughing with her Uncle Benjen. She tried to catch his eye, and she knew he could feel her gaze. He always knew. But he refused to look at her and instead mounted his horse and took a position at the rear of the party as Arya was headed to the front with Sansa and the royal family.

The party departed from Winterfell, those bound for King's Landing leading, and the men for the Wall behind. Just as Arya prepared to double back and search for Jon in the train of the procession, King Robert came up beside her on his horse. Arya was amazed that a man of his size could even sit a horse, but she held her tounge.

"Well aren't you a pretty thing," the king began. He wasn't so much inviting her to conversation as he was appraising her like a new horse.

"She looks just like her!" he called behind him. "Doesn't she Ned?"

"Yes, Robert," Arya's father replied sadly. "Yes she does."

Arya just stared ahead as the king fell back to talk with her father, no doubt reminiscing about the woman she supposedly looked like, her father's late sister, Lyanna. She looked back and saw that the party bound for the wall had split off and was headed north. Arya remained twisted in her saddle as she watched Jon's retreating form with a heavy heart. She kept him in her sights until his dark silhouette disappeared against the stark northern landscape, and only then did she turn to look at the path before her. She rode on with the others, farther and farther from home, even as every fiber of her being was willing her to turn and ride north. _Jon..._

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	3. Don't Look So Sad

**A/N: A few things...**

**1) Arya was captured when the Lannister guards came to get her from her dancing lesson on the day they took her father prisoner. She and Sansa watched their father get beheaded together. This chapter takes place right after that. **

**2) Sorry, no Jon in this chapter. He'll be back. His and Arya's relationship is gonna be a slow burn and painful for the both of them. Just warning you. **

**That's all!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except the plot. **

* * *

In the commotion, Arya slipped away from the sept, the sound of the blade slicing through her father's neck still ringing in her ears. She ran faster and harder than she ever had before. She had to get out of the city. Sansa would be fine, she was betrothed to Joffrey, and in some sick way, that would keep her safe. But not Arya. She was of no use to them, and after seeing her father's head roll across the steps of the sept, she wasn't taking any chances. _Not today, not today,_ she chanted in her head as she ran through the halls of the keep. She tore into her room, chest heaving and slip under her bed, searching for the bundle she had concealed in the underside of her bed frame. _Needle._ She needed it to escape, but it was more than that. It was the only comfort she had left. Her fingers reached for the bundle just as she felt a hand close around her ankle.

"Come out, come out," the rough voice of one of the king's guard rasped as Arya was dragged from beneath the bed.

"NO!" Arya yelled as she aimed a kick at his shin, but he dodged it and grabbed her painfully by the hair.

"Well aren't you a little she-wolf," he crooned mockingly as he jerked her head back forcefully. "The Queen's looking for you."

He let go of her hair and closed his large hand around her wrist. "If you struggle, I'll break it," he threatened before pulling her out of the room behind him.

* * *

"Well! What do we have here?" Cersei cried excitedly as the guard pushed Arya into the room.

Arya immediately scanned the room for an escape. The only door was blocked by the guard behind her and the windows were too high to jump. She settled for backing into one of the stone pillars behind her, pressing herself flat against it.

"Did you think you could slip through my fingers?" Cersei scolded. "You're no match for me, little girl. Come here," she ordered. Beckoning with a long, jewel-covered finger.

Arya took two work steps forward and Cersei leaned toward her. "Do you know who you look like?" Arya simply stared at her, betraying no interest. "Lyanna," Cersei spat. "Wild girl. The woman that destroyed a dynasty and overturned the entire kingdom, just with her pretty face! She ruined everything, you know," Cersei continued conversationally.

Arya was becoming wary; the queen was pacing like a caged beast. "If it weren't for her, Robert and I could have been happy. He could have loved me. Not for certain," she admitted almost absentmindedly. Then her voice began to raise with each word. "But I'd have had a fighting chance!"

And then the back of her hand landed on Arya's cheek in a flash, her rings cutting small lines into the pale flesh. Arya stumbled back against the pillar crying out, and Cersei stalked after her like a cat. She grabbed Arya's face and dug her nails into the already wounded flesh.

"So pretty," she mused. "You'll flower soon I expect. Then you'll be married. You and your sister both."

Arya whimpered as the queen's nails dug deeper into the side of her face.

"Be quiet!" Cersei snapped. "Let your husband control you. Maybe a pack of wolves in the nursery will silence your _howling_."

She released Arya's face and turned to the guard. "Take her to her room and don't release her until I give the order. Don't let her out of your sight," the queen caught Arya's murderous gaze. "This one's trouble."

* * *

Arya stared calmly up at the ceiling. She memorized the patterns of the many cracks four days ago. Two days before that, they had locked her in. Three days ago she tried to break down the door, and her hands still bore the resulting bruises. She wouldn't let the maids bathe her; she made them leave her meals just inside the door and that was as close as they got. If anyone tried to approach her, she threw things. She gained small satisfaction from the knowledge that she was a nuisance. If Cersei wanted to keep her prisoner, Arya wasn't going to make it easy. _I'm a wolf,_ she thought. _And wolves bite._

Arya heard a commotion outside her door and raised voices, but she couldn't hear what they were saying. The door swung open and Prince Joffrey strode into her room, accompanied by Ser Meryn. Arya watced them approach her perch on the far corner of the bed with narrowed eyes. Her whole body was quivering, ready for an attack.

"No need to look so frightened, little-wolf," Joffrey mocked. "_I'm_ not going to hurt you."

"What do you want?" Arya spat. She needed to know the reason for Joffrey's visit; the uncertainty was making her wary.

"Well, I don't want to marry your sweet-sister anymore. She's gotten awfully sour, but I can't imagine why," he said with false innocence and a grin. "I want to put her in her place a bit, but mother won't let me because she has to be seen in court, and the scandal wouldn't be good for my image."

Arya let out a sigh. Sansa was safe.

"But," Joffrey continued gleefully. "Mother never said anything about the other she-wolf, and I doubt anyone will notice if you bear a few bruises. It's not as if anyone sees you."

He lunged toward her and Arya sprang in the direction of the door, but Ser Meryn grabbed her by the back of her shift.

"One should do the trick," Joffrey said as he leaned back against the bedpost.

Ser Meryn's fist connected with Arya's cheekbone and her head snapped to the side. She struggled frantically in his grasp, her head spinning.

"Oh dear," Joffrey chuckled. "I should have told you not to struggle," he said regretfully. "Another," he ordered Ser Meryn, and before Arya could react the side of her face exploded in pain once more.

Ser Meryn let go or her and she scrambled into the corner of the room. Her head was pounding and she tasted blood in her mouth, but she didn't take her eyes off the two men. Joffrey stalked toward her cowering form and reached out a hand.

"Don't look so sad, little she-wolf," he said softly as he brushed a sweaty strand of hair from her face. Then he leaned in until his lips brushed her ear. "This isn't the last time you'll see me."

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	4. I Promise

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! This goes a little dark, just to warn you. I've changed the rating on this story as well. **

**ardleighstreet: just you wait. arya does not let misdeeds go unpunished.**

**disclaimer: I own nothing. **

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Not much time passed until Joffrey made good on his promise. He came to her room again with Ser Meryn. He had her beaten. He left. He came again. The blows no longer sent Arya to the corner of her room, cowering in fear. She would calmly watch Joffrey with her steely gray eyes as her entered her room. And when he left she made sure to watch him too. She wanted him to see the hatred there, and the promise of revenge. It didn't take Arya long for her to make up her mind; one day, no matter how long she had to wait, she would see him dead. Him and his vile mother. And Ser Meryn for beating her; he was no true knight. Ser Ilyn, for taking her father's head. Jaime Lannister for pushing her brother out the window, and the Imp for trying to kill him. She spent her idle hours dreaming of their deaths. How their blood would look dripping from Needle's point, or staining her hands. True, she had never killed before, but in her dreams she murdered them again and again. Her list became her only prayer. She prayed to no gods she knew the names of, or perhaps she prayed to all the gods. Either way, holding onto her promise of vengeance kept her sane as the weeks dragged on and she remained a prisoner in her room.

Arya soon realized that Cersei did not trust in her obedience as she did Sansa's, but the queen still needed her. Arya was a powerful bargaining chip against her brother who had mounted a rebellion against the Iron Throne and was calling himself The King In the North, if the rumors were to be believed. Her captivity ensured that when the time came, Arya and her sister could be traded for Robb's submission. While Arya was proud of Robb for leading their father's men into battle, and even jealous of him, the queen's words still echoed in her thoughts plaguing her with distress. _You'll flower soon, I expect. And then you'll be married._ The last thing Arya wanted was to be shipped off to some Lannister or one of their bannermen as insurance against Robb coming to wipe out all of the eastern lands. And so she began refusing her food. Arya knew that if she made herself sickly enough, her moonsblood would never come. It didn't take long for her ribs to become visible through her pale skin and her face to turn gaunt and angular. When her maids realized that she was throwing her food from her window into the gardens below instead of eating it, her guards attempted to force her to eat. Their efforts were futile, however. Arya didn't let them get close enough to touch her. If anyone came close she would scream and throw anything she could find. If they managed to get a hold of her she kicked and scratched and bit them until they let her go. Her became snarled and wild with no one to wash or comb it and her clothes were ragged and dirty. She could hear them, the maids and the guards, talking outside her door. _Like a rabid animal,_ they said. _She becomes more wild every day. A caged beast._ Arya liked the thought of that. _A caged wolf,_ she mused. _But not forever. One day I'll be free and then I'll kill them all... Joffrey, Cersei, Ser Meryn, Ser Ilyn, the Kingslayer, the Imp._

* * *

It had been several months, Arya estimated for she had no way of knowing for sure, when Joffrey came into her room with The Hound in tow. The moment she saw his face, she knew something was not right. He looked angry, and restless. His eyes darted back and forth.

"You know, my mother caught me with a whore today," he said in his high, juvenile voice. "She threw her out of the castle instantly."

"No I did not know," Arya said cheekily. "Lucky for the whore."

"Shut up!" Joffrey roared. "I don't like it when you talk!"

Arya stared at him silently and raised an eyebrow. She did not fear him anymore.

"You see, Mother wouldn't let me have the whore because she forbids me siring any bastards," he said before he turned to her with a slow smile spreading across his face. "But you haven't flowered yet, you skinny little wench."

Arya blanched. She didn't like where this was going. Maybe she was wrong to think that there was nothing to fear from Joffrey.

* * *

The Hound watched as Joffrey stalked towards the girl and grabbed her by her hair.

"If you struggle," he began, forcing her onto the bed, "I'll kill you. I don't care what my mother says."

As he crawled on top of her, unlacing his breeches, the girl began to push against him. _Stupid stupid girl,_ the Hound thought.

"Help me!" The girl called to him where he stood in the shadows of the room. He simply stared past her, hoping that if he didn't look, her pleading, desperate stare would disappear.

"Please don't do this," she whimpered pushing against Joffrey's chest as he reached under her shift.

Joffrey brought his hand up to her throat, choking off her air.

"I told you," he hissed. "If you struggle, I'll kill you. And _then_ I'll fuck you."

The girl choked on a scream as the prince entered her, breaking her maiden head no doubt. Her arms struggled against Joffrey's grip where he had them pinned above her head, but the prince didn't seem to notice. The Hound watched as the girl's body went limp and her head fell back against the mattress while Joffrey continued to pound into her. He thought the sight couldn't get any worse when the poor girl's eyes rolled back in her head and silent tears began falling down her cheeks. The Hound's stomach turned and he looked away and tried to tune out the sound of Joffrey's labored breathing.

* * *

Arya didn't know how long Joffrey stayed. He had her at least twice. She just lay there and tried to think of something, anything else. The more it hurt, the more her mind traveled from her body, slipping into memories.

_She was running through the halls of Winterfell in her nightdress, hair streaming behind her and heart pounding in her chest._

_"Jon!" She cried, bursting through a door at the end of the hall. "Jon help me!_

_"Arya?" He mumbled groggily. "Arya, what's wrong?"_

_"I had a nightmare," she whimpered, slipping into his bed and curling into his side. She was small, only eight years at the most._

_"Shhh," he whispered, his hand rubbing familiar circles on her back. "Do you want to tell me about it?"_

_"Everyone was dead, Jon," she cried. "And we were just looking at their bodies."_

_"Who was dead, little sister?"_

_"Everyone! Everyone we know!" She wailed, fisting her hands in his tunic._

_"Nobody is dead, Arya," he said softly. "They're all asleep in their beds, and I'll protect you. Don't worry." He kissed her forehead._

_"Do you promise?" She said quietly, nuzzling against his warm body._

_"I promise," he said seriously. "I'll always protect you."_

* * *

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	5. AN: A Playlist

**Sorry! This is not a new chapter. Real life is breathing down my neck. You know the drill. BUT, I have a little something for you. My playlist for this fic. I know my taste may not be to everyone's liking, but I write to music and this is my backdrop. **

In no particular order:

_Promise_ - Ben Howard

_Youth_ - Daughter

_Sophie_ - Benjamin Francis Leftwich

_Give Me Love_ - Ed Sheeran

_Transatlanticism_ - Death Cab For Cutie

_To Be Alone_ - Ben Howard

_Fake Empire_ - The National

_Bound To Happen_ - The Spill Canvas

_Skinny Love_ - Bon Iver (because every sad romantic playlist needs this song)

_See You Soon (cover)_ - Anna Scouten

_Candles_ - Daughter

_Connect The Dots_ - The Spill Canvas

_This Empty Northern Hemisphere_ - Gregory Alan Isakov

**I promise: two updates at at least coming this week. Just not in the next few days. **

**I love you all. Your reviews/follows/favorites make my day. **


	6. Flower

**A/N: I have no acceptable word of apology for putting this out so late. None whatsoever. I deserve to burn in the deepest of the Seven Hells. As a consolation prize, know that I'm on spring break, and this was writted on the banks of the Seine. It's no great literary masterpiece, but the location for my musings made me feel awfully refined. **

**For those of you who were disturbed by the last chapter: things will be taking a turn towards the light soon, I promise. **

**Without further adieu...**

* * *

Arya spent what she thought to be several months trapped in her little tower room. Joffrey never visited her again; she did not know why, but whatever the reason, she was thankful. That did not stop her from wishing for his death in her every waking moment. She prayed to all the gods she knew each night that he would die and that she would be the one to kill him. Somewhere along the line, she added other to her list. First Joffrey, of course. Then The Hound for letting the prince do what he did, Ser Meryn for beating her, Cersei for imprisoning her, the Imp because her father had said that he tried to have Bran killed, and Ilyn Payne for taking her father's head. Each night before she went to sleep she prayed for their deaths. _Joffrey, The Hound, Ser Meryn, Cersei, the Imp, Ilyn Payne._ Oddly enough, her deranged prayer of death was the only thing that kept her sane as she wasted away in her little room.

The maids came with her meals every day, but Arya refused to eat more than a few bites. The Queen's words rang in her head, _you'll flower soon...then you'll be married_, as a constant reminder to only eat enough to stay alive. Arya knew that while her 15th nameday had surely passed in the time since she was imprisoned, and by all rights she should have flowered, the more she starved herself of nourishment the less likely it was that she would bleed. It was a dangerous game she was playing at; she could feel herself growing weaker every day. She slept because she didn't have the energy to do anything else, her skin had become deathly pale, her cheekbones hollows in her face, her lips so chapped they split and stung, and her ribs showed so clearly through her skin that she could count every single one. But as long as she remained unflowered, it was worth it. She refused to be bought and sold at the whims of the Lannisters.

* * *

One day, she did not know what day, she heard a commotion outside her door.

_"Let me in!"_ A girl's voice screeched. _Sansa._ Arya ran to the door, pounding against it with all the strength she had left.

"Sansa!" she called, scraping against the wood with her brittle nails. "Help me, Sansa!"

_"Arya -"_ Sansa began until she was cut off and Arya heard the unmistakable sound of a slap. Arya only scrabbled more frantically against the bolted door. Her nails broke and her fingers began to bleed but still she fought.

"Don't hurt her!" She cried desperately. "Sansa, please!"

"But Sansa didn't respond and she heard the guards ordering to have her sister taken away.

_"The Lady Sansa must 'ave heard the news about her family,"_ one of the guards said conversationally to the other.

_"Wolves aren't so threatening when they're dead,"_ the other replied with dark laughter.

Arya's eyes opened wide in shock. _No...they couldn't mean...please no_.

"Tell me what happened!" Arya commanded with as much authority as she could muster to the guard on the other side of the door. Her heart was racing. _It can't be true._

_"They're all dead, little she-wolf,"_ the first guard responded smugly. "No more Starks."

Arya leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, curling her knees up to her chest. It felt as it the wind had been knocked from her lungs. _How? Why?_ Not that it mattered, in the end. They were gone, all but she and Sansa. She would never feel the critical gaze of Catelyn Stark again, and Arya was surprised to find that she would suffer any of her mother's barbed comments if it brought her back for even just one more day. She would never watch Robb grow into great lord - _great king_, if the rumors the guards whispered were true - that he was destined to be. Never curl up with Bran to listen to one of Old Nan's captivatingly frightening stories, never help him bear the burden of his injury. She would never know the young man that Rickon could have become if he'd only been given the chance to grow up; he would be a little boy forever. Her father had left her in this world long ago, but the image of his head rolling across the step of the Sept would be forever be burned on backs of her eyelids. And Jon..._Jon!_

She banged on the door again. "What about Jon!" she cried desperately.

_"Who's Jon?"_ the second guard answered."Jon Snow! My father's bastard. He's in the Night's Watch!" She pressed.

_"A'vnt heard nothing about him. Too low to merit slaughter, most like."_

Arya thought about snapping back that _Jon is not too low for anything!_ but it wasn't worth it, and the last thing she wanted to do was complicate things for him. A small smile flashed across her face and she breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of Jon safely away from the turmoil the lives had become. She instantly felt so guilty it turned her stomach. How could she be _smiling_ and _relieved_ when most of her family were nothing but bones with no one to care for them save the silent sisters? The guilt _did_ in fact turn her stomach and she barely made it to the chamber pot in time.

Arya stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and crawled into her bed. She pulled the cover up to her chin and stared resolutely at the wall. She willed her eyes not to close in sleep, for she was afraid of what her dreams might bring.

* * *

_She was running, panting as she sucked the icy air into her lungs. Her powerful legs slammed her paws into the soft earth as she closed in on her prize. The stag was great, but not so great that it was a challenge for her still growing body. She ripped out its neck, ending it's life as quickly as she could, and began to strip the meat from its flank. The others, smaller than she, joined her, tentatively partaking in her feast. Once she had had her fill, she left them to their squabbling and fighting for the last shreds of the meal._

_The dream changed and Arya was being dragged before Cersei. "It's time," she crooned with malice in her eyes as she pulled a dagger from the folds of her skirt and plunged it into Arya's abdomen._

* * *

Arya woke with a start. The dreams were so real. The wolf dream was nothing new; she would never admit to anyone that she had dreams of hunting down animals in a pack of wolves, but she had them often. But the one that followed, the dream with Cersei, she actually felt the stabbing pain. If fact, she _still_ felt it. Arya ripped the covers away and gasped in shock. There was blood. Arya pulled up her night dress, checking for the wound in her lower abdomen where Cersei stabbed the dagger, but there was nothing. Was she injured somewhere else? Arya searched her body for anything that could have shed so much blood, and it didn't take her long to deduce what had happened. Her moonsblood.

Arya collapsed back onto her bed, disgusted by the warm liquid beneath her, only to shoot back up in terror. She had bled! And that meant only one thing - she could marry. Arya leapt from her bed and tore off her nightdress. She used the unsoiled part to try and clean some of the blood from her legs, and then balled it up and stuck in in the back of the dresser. She then went over to her bed and puzzled over how to hide the bloody mess; no one could see that she had bled. All of the maids reported to Cersei and the queen would ship her off to some horrible lord, Gregor Clegane perhaps, that very day. Arya flipped the mattress over with some difficulty, but at least that stain was hidden. She was folding the bedclothes upon themselves so as to hide the red when one of the maids opened the door. The maid opened her eyes wide in shock at Arya's appearance - frantic with blood smeared on her thighs - and hurried off down the hall towards the Queen's apartments. The tray the maid had been carrying clattered to the floor with a sound that might as well have been the bars slamming shut that would ensure Arya's captivity as a Lannister pawn forever.

* * *

Review! I'm not one to withhold chapters for review, but they're always rather motivational.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: So I know that this is ridiculously short, really just a snapshot. But I had to split it here for two reasons. 1) there's going to be quite the time jump between this chapter and the next. I want things to speed up a bit; I think we've had quite enough of Arya's misery in King's Landing. 2) if I didn't break it here the next chapter would be monstrous (by this story's standards)**

**Also, a big big BIG thank you to everyone who's been reviewing, following and favoriting. This is all for you. Enjoy...**

* * *

Arya woke from sleep with a start to pounding on her door. It had been over a week since her moonsblood ended, and she was still living in fear of what would happen to her when Cersei decided to broker some war alliance with Arya's marriage. Arya wasn't sure if she would go so far as to say she would prefer captivity to a marriage sanctioned by the Lannisters, but either way, her future was looking bleak.

Arya was interrupted from her reverie when her door swung open to reveal one of her maids.

"Sorry to wake you, m'lady, but the Queen requires your presence," the maid said with a pinched expression as she surveyed Arya's perpetually disheveled appearance.

Arya's stomach sank. _Oh Gods, please no. Just give me one more day._ She wanted to run and hide and cower beneath the bed, but she was a wolf, and wolves did not cower. Arya rose from bed and strode purposefully from her room, brushing past the maid without acknowledging the older woman. The maid trailed her as she made her way to Cersei's chambers. Arya tried to walk as proudly as she could, but that proved to be a challenge considering she had not bathed in quite some time and she was little more than a skeleton. The maid looked at her with pity and made to straighten Arya's shift, but Arya gave the woman a feral snarl and snapped her teeth. She had turned into a wild animal during her months in captivity. _Good,_ she thought, _I'll show Cersei how much trouble I can be now._

The maid let Arya into the Queen's apartments, and Cersei rose from a gilded chaise. Cersei was absolutely glowing; absolute power suited her wonderfully. She was resplendent in a gown of cloth of gold with sumptuous red silk sleeves and accents. _She looks like a bloody sigl_, Arya scoffed internally, _She's even got the claws_, Arya brought her hand up to rub the faint scars on her cheek from Cersei's slap all those months ago.

"What do you want?" Arya wasn't interested in any pleasantries, and that seemed to disappoint the Queen. The older woman's smile slipped a bit but something in her eyes only grew sharper.

"Oh dear one," Cersei said sweetly, "There's no need to be so hostile."

Arya stiffened. _No need to be so hostile?_ She laughed at that thought. Cersei pulled out a chair and motioned for Arya to sit, but Arya's eyes landed on the sharp letter opener on Cersei's desk only a few feet to the left. Arya took a step towards it, the sweetness of Cersei's death almost in her hands, but she was stopped by sharp nails digging into her arm. Arya whirled around to see Cersei looking down at her with fire in her eyes.

"If you so much as think about that again, I'll have you and your sister beheaded before the day is out," the Queen hissed, her voice dripping with the threat.

Arya swallowed her pride and nodded meekly. _For Sansa._

"Now," Cersei began again, sitting across from Arya and placing her hands primly upon her knees, "There are matters to discuss. Do you of what I speak, dear one?"

Arya refused to answer, fixing the Queen with her steely gray gaze and quirking one dark eyebrow.

Cersei was not deterred. "You're a woman grown now, and it's time to find you a marriage."

Arya's gaze flicked to the Queen's window. "I'd rather throw myself from that window over there than spread my legs in a marriage bed," she deadpanned.

Cersei rose from her chair and towered over Arya. She grabbed Arya's hair, wrenching the girl's head back painfully until their eyes met. "If you do, I will break a bone in your sister's body for every one of yours that shatters when you hit the courtyard."

She had Arya trapped, playing the card that would crush any defiance. Cersei Lannister did not make idle threats. Arya refused to respond, only casting her eyes downward, defeated.

"Now that we're on the same page," Cersei smiled tightly and released Arya, "You will be appearing in court. You will make yourself presentable. You will conduct yourself like the lady that you are," the Queen paused, delicately poking at Arya's emaciated arm, "and you will start eating again."

"So you want to make me presentable so some Lannister bannerman will want to wed me?" Arya asked skeptically. It was laughable, really. No amount of hair combing and fine silks could make Arya presentable; she looked like a walking corpse from her brief foray into starvation.

"Oh no, dear one," the queen laughed, "You're already betrothed."

"What." Arya replied tonelessly, only her widening eyes and tense posture revealing her terror.

"Joffrey has set aside your sister for Margaery Tyrell, and after the royal wedding," Cersei paused for dramatic effect, "You'll be sent back to the North to wed the Bolton bastard, whatever the little monster's name is."

Arya's mouth opened and closed a few times, no sound coming out. She did not speak as Cersei pulled her from her chair and all but dragged her into the next room where several maids were drawing a bath. She did not speak as the maids stripped her of her raggedy shift and directed her into the tub. She did not speak as Cersei sat her down at her own vanity and began brushing through Arya's now clean locks. While Arya kept her mouth closed, the wheels in her mind were turning. The way North was long, and many things could happen on the road. Escaping from her captors while they were traveling was her best bet for escape. If she played Cersei's game for now - acted like a lady and pretended to submit to her betrothal - she could worry about escape later. Sansa...well that was another matter, but Arya would cross that bridge when she came to it.

"So, dear one," Cersei reclaimed Arya's attention and leaned down so their eyes met in the mirror, "Do we have an agreement?"

Arya nodded her head, not trusting herself to lie well enough if she tried to speak.

* * *

**Review! Please. Seriously. I'd like some feedback. **


	8. Escape

**A/N: Here's another. I'm on a bit of a roll. So I'm a little disappointed with the dearth of reviews lately. I know, I'm sorry I disappeared for a month, but I'm back with a vengeance! So I'd love some feedback. **

**Also, for those of you that think things have been moving a bit slow/been totally depressing, you're right! Things were moving slow, but I meant for that to be sort of introductory stuff because much of it isn't incredibly relevant to the plot of the rest of the story. Things were pretty bleak for poor Arya as well, but that's about to change. **

**so read! hopefully enjoy! and extra hopefully review!**

* * *

Jon slammed his fist against his desk, the letter announcing Arya's betrothal to Ramsay Bolton crumpled beside him. When one of the brothers had arrived earlier that morning bearing a tray with his breakfast and that letter, he had been thinking about her. It was an uncharacteristically bright day for so far north, Arya's favorite kind. Fat snowflakes were falling, but the sun still cut through the clouds in places. When they were still in Winterfell together on a day like this, Arya would wake him early from sleep and drag him out riding before he even opened his eyes properly. He never could refuse her anything. She would look like a wildling from one of Old Nan's tales with her furs about her shoulders, hair tangled and unbound, and snowflakes caught in her eyelashes. Her laugh would float back to him as she streaked ahead fast as a gust of wind. It was days like this that her laughter would echo all around him, warming him and haunting him in equal parts. That night when he had ridden off to fight beside Robb he had not just been going to save their father, he was going to save Arya. The last time they spoke their words had been angry and hurtful, but still he thought of her every day. They had always been quite the pair, the two of them looking so wild it was said that they had been birthed by the North itself. Jon cared for all of his siblings, even Sansa, but Arya was the one that truly cared for him. He and Robb were close, but there was always an invisible line dividing them. With Arya, there were no lines at all. When they were together, finishing each other's sentences and having one of their silent conversations, it was difficult to tell where he ended and she began. She had been right that last day in Winterfell, we belong to each other. He felt as if he had failed her. There he sat, safe in the North, while she was held captive in the South. He never should have returned to the wall that night. He should have ridden past Robb's camp and straight to King's Landing.

And so, when he read the missive from the Capitol with those thoughts in his mind, it felt as if he had been run through with a blade. Arya, his strong, brave, beautiful Arya, would never be free now. He should have gone to her. Saved her. And because he hadn't, she was a prisoner to the crown and betrothed to the most monstrous man he could imagine. _I'm so sorry Arya._

* * *

Arya leaned over the railing of the upper deck and took a deep breath of the damp sea air. They had been on the ship two weeks, bound for the North. The Stark sister's escape from King's Landing had been successful, but only because everything had managed to come together at just the right moment. To any other, it would have seemed serendipitous, but Arya was the only one who knew how carefully measured the evening of their flight had been. Several outsiders had presented her with the pieces she needed, and all she had to do was tie everything together.

* * *

_"Why can't we leave now?" Arya whined to Ser Dontos, frustrated by the particulars of his plan to help her and Sansa escape._

_"We must wait until the time is right, my lady," the knight replied with an exasperated sigh; this was not the first time Arya had expressed her displeasure. "We will speak again when I know what day we may leave."_

_"But-" Arya jumped in._

_"Hush, Arya!" Sansa elbowed her little sister lightly in the side and spoke with the practiced maturity she often used when speaking to Arya, "We must trust Ser Dontos."_

_Arya scowled. She was not satisfied with her minimal knowledge of the plot. She was convinced that someone was sure to notice them before they even left the castle, and if they did manage to make it out of the keep, their chances of getting very far were slim. She knew Joffrey and Cersei, and they would not simply allow the Stark sisters to slip away; the girls were far too valuable. Sansa would be a Lannister by the time they fled - a thought that made Arya's blood boil and her hands itch to wrap around Tyrion Lannister's throat - and Arya was essential to a war-time betrothal that would solidify a powerful alliance for the Lannisters. In addition to the improbability of their success, she didn't trust Ser Dontos and could not believe that the bumbling fool was acting alone. There was someone far more intelligent behind this, and Arya wasn't sure if she wanted to meet them._

_"How do we know we can trust him?" She hissed in Sansa's ear, "We have enemies everywhere." Arya spoke in earnest; if there was anything she had learned from her brief time at court, it was that no one could be trusted._

_"Don't be so paranoid, Arya. We know who our enemies are," Sansa rolled her eyes. Arya loved her sister, but in that moment, she could have slapped her._

_"I know who they are, but do you?" Her nostrils flared when Sansa curled her lip and made to turn back to Ser Dontos, but Arya grabbed her sister's arm, "Anyone who isn't us."_

* * *

Days after Arya's secret meeting with Sansa and Ser Dontos, she was called upon by some unexpected guests.

_Arya tensed; few people ever came to her chambers, and they were rarely pleasant visits._

_"Come now, child," Little Olenna Tyrell said as Arya hesitantly opened the door, "Let's not tarry in the hallway."_

_The wizened old woman pushed past Arya, and Margaery, the beautiful queen-to-be, followed them inside. The two Tyrell women sat in the small chairs the bed without waiting for an invitation and looked up at Arya expectantly. Arya was completely baffled and had no idea what to make of their unexpected arrival._

_"What do you want?" Arya didn't really mean to sound so rude, but she was just so curious and she had never been one for pleasantries._

_"Don't worry, Arya," Margaery said soothingly, her golden brown eyes wide and shining. "We only wanted to pay you a visit."_

_"Stop dithering about, girl," the Queen Of Thorns snapped at her granddaughter. "Lady Stark is rather intelligent. She knows we're not here on a social call."_

_Arya's eyes darted suspiciously between the two women. The last time she had seen them, she had been with Sansa at a luncheon in the Maidenvault. Arya remembered she failed miserably at playing the part of a court lady - always talking out of turn and expressing her opinions passionately, according to Sansa. The Tyrell women had managed to get Sansa and Arya to admit what a monster Joffrey was. I'll kill him myself, Arya had said before she clapped a hand over her mouth. No, she certainly hadn't charmed them so thoroughly that they desired her company again; they were in her camber because they wanted something._

_"Very well, Grandmother," Margaery sighed before turning to Arya. "Do you remember what you said when we entertained you in the Maidenvault?"_

_Arya knew she was speaking about the death wish for Joffrey, but she was frightened of being branded a traitor so she only gave a noncommittal bob of her head._

_"Of course she does," Olenna was clearly not interested in playing any games. "I doubt any of us forgot her little plea for the death of our dear King Joffrey."_

_Arya took a deep breath, preparing to defend herself. It wasn't in her nature to take back things she had said in truth, but her words were treason. If these women told anyone, her life would be on the line._

_"Don't worry, child," Olenna stopped her, reading the fear in her eyes. "You're not the only one who would like to see the Boy King's head separated from his shoulders."_

* * *

_"We will leave during the wedding feast," Arya announced forcefully during their next meeting with Ser Dontos._

_"Well-uh, my lady, you see," Ser Dontos stuttered, always a bit too nervous under Arya's sharp glare to function properly._

_"Is there a problem with that, Ser?" Arya asked, raising an eyebrow and daring him to say yes._

_"The wedding is in a few days," he pleaded, "I'll need more time to make to arrangements."_

_"You have plenty of time," Arya snapped, her patience waning. The knight looked like he was going to protest again until Arya raised her hand, silencing him. "Tell whoever you're working for - yes I know that you aren't acting alone, I'm not that stupid - that we will leave during the wedding feast."_

* * *

_Everything was going as planned. She sat beside the new queen, as per Margaery's request to the seating organizers. The small grain of poison sat safely in a small pocket concealed in the folds of her skirt while she waited for the opportune moment the hand it to Margaery so she could slip it into her husband's goblet. Arya had removed it from the hairnet she had requested Sansa wear without difficulty; she thought the hairnet scheme was unnecessary, but Lady Olenna assured her it was a foolproof way to avoid detection. She and Margaery shared a glance, both girls' eyes gleaming with their secret. _Yes,_ Arya thought, _he will pay.

* * *

_Arya and Sansa skidded to a halt behind Ser Dontos. They had run from the castle under the cover of darkness, bringing nothing with them but the wedding finery they still wore._

_"I must thank you, Ser Dontos, for delivering the ladies safely," came an oddly familiar voice from the darkness._

_"L-Lord Baelish?" Sansa questioned, her voice high and surprised._

_Arya shoved Ser Dontos out of the way to get a look at the man. "Why are you here?" she questioned harshly, drawing needle and pointing it at his throat._

_"Put that away before you hurt yourself, young lady," Littlefinger dismissed her. "Sansa, my lady," he said with much more charm, turning his attention towards Arya's sister. "I'm so glad that you are safe."_

_"Were you behind this all along?" Arya cut in, pushing Sansa behind her protectively. It was a rather ineffective gesture, considering Sansa was rather tall, and Arya petite in the extreme, but both sisters knew that Arya was far more capable of defending them._

_Baelish's lip curled as he looked down at Arya briefly before directing his gaze over her shoulder, at Sansa. "Please come aboard, my lady." He held out a gloved hand._

_Sansa scooted around her sister and took Lord Baelish's hand, allowing him to help her onto the ship. Arya debated for a moment. She could go with him, and risk whatever he had planned. Or she could run, but it was unlikely she would make it out of the city and Sansa would never come with her. Arya made her decision, steeled herself, and followed her sister. Ser Dontos made to join her, but Lord Baelish held up his hand._

_"Thank you for your assistance, Ser, but I'm afraid you will not be joining us."_

_"What?" The knight's face began to redden, visible even in the dark. "You promised you would give me passage in exchange for the ladies!"_

_"Please Ser," Baelish said with a slight roll of his eyes. "You will be paid handsomely, but you will be staying here."_

_Ser Dontos puffed up his chest, taking a deep breath and clearly preparing to raise his voice, but he never got the chance. Arya flicked her arm out - still holding Needle - blindingly fast, and slit the man's throat. He gurgled and spluttered for a moment, choking on his own blood, before he toppled back into the bay with a splash._

_"Arya!" Sansa squealed, horror plainly written across her face._

_"What." Arya muttered tonelessly, not in the mood for her sister's delicacy._

_"You killed him!"_

_"Of course I did, stupid," she rolled her eyes. "He was going to give us away."_

_Sansa only shook her head and covered her face with her hands, but Lord Baelish gave Arya an appraising glance._

_"Well, well, young lady, it would seem that you are not as useless as I thought."_

* * *

**Thank you for reading! And reviewing (if you decide to show me some love). I'm having fun with this story, but if you aren't, tell me why. I know things have been slow and miserable up to this point, but things will be picking up and there are some smiles in the future. **


	9. Valar Morghulis

**A/N: Longest chapter yet! I'm stoked - are you? As promised, this are continuing to move right along and Arya is definitely taking charge of her own destiny here. And also turning into the badass we know and love. **

* * *

Littlefinger, _Lord Baelish_, was being very secretive about their official destination, and Arya was becoming anxious. At first, Arya had assumed, like Sansa, that they would be going to Winterfell, or at least to one of the banner men still loyal to the Starks. But as the days dragged on and he refused to answer her questions, Arya came to doubt his intentions and mistrust him even more than she had initially. Sansa was no help; she had spent most of the voyage holed up in her quarters. Arya felt badly for her sister for she had not taken well to the rolling motion that accompanied travel by ship, but Arya also resented the fact that Sansa refused to acknowledge Arya's suspicions about their destination.

Without Sansa's company, Arya found herself alone more often than not. The solitude suited her; her long months as a prisoner in her chambers in King's Landing had made her uncomfortable with too much human interaction. For the most part, she avoided the crew, but she had managed to befriend one of the men. He never gave her his name, but he spoke with the strange lilting accent of Braavos. He had a long face that was tanned a golden brown and dark eyes that were always guarded. A few days into their voyage, Arya snuck onto the above deck with Needle and tried to practice her water dancing. It wasn't the same without Syrio, but she tried her best as she battled imaginary foes. She saw the faces of Joffrey and Cersei and Ser Meryn and all the others, and she cut them down again and again. She was slashing furiously at the air, imagining slicing The Hound to shreds, when she heard the man clear his throat behind her.

_"What is a girl like you doing with a sword like that?" He asked with a smile on his weathered face._

_Arya lifted her chin defensively, "It was a gift."_

_"Quite the gift for a little lady like yourself." Arya opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off. "And can you wield it?"_

_"Of course I can! I was learning the water dance before -" she closed her mouth quickly, not wanting to give away anything that might hint at her true identity._

_The man flashed her a grin. "And would you like to continue your lessons?"_

_Arya's face lit up and she nodded her head._

And that was how their friendship began. Every night she met the man on the upper deck and he continued to teach her, picking up where Syrio left off. The man told her that she held more promise than most he had ever met and she swelled with pride. After losing so much, it felt good to regain something from before her life fell to madness. She was a quick learner, and she knew it. She didn't lose to the man as badly as she had when their lessons began, and she found herself able to best him with increasing frequency. He was stronger, but she was small and quick, and he taught her to use her size to her advantage.

_They will always be stronger than you, but you are small, and that can help you more than it hurts you._

Arya rested her hand fondly on Needle's hilt. She felt confident in her ability to wield the small blade, but her lessons would be coming to a close far earlier than she would like. The previous morning, as they broke their fast, Littlefinger had announced that they would be arriving at their mysterious destination in no more than three days. This unsettled Arya; it was far too early for them to have made their way to the North already. But as usual, when she expressed her concern to Sansa, her older sister dismissed her.

_I did not escape King's Landing to be thrust into another form of captivity._ She was not going wherever Littlefinger was taking them. She was going to the Wall, to Jon. She supposed she had always had the intention of going to him. Winterfell could never be her home again, not with most of her family gone. When she thought of home now, she thought of Jon. She dreamt of him often, and when she woke she could almost see his smile - a smile that came rarely, but could outshine the sun. Their last conversation weighed heavily on her mind; _"What can you promise me that will make me stay?"_ he had said before leaving her without a backward glance. Arya didn't know what she could have said, what she could have promised. The feelings that surrounded Jon were so complicated. He was more than her brother. She didn't know how to be without him. She had wished for him often in the past few months. She ached for his comfort, his love. _He promised to always protect me, but I left him._ He was the center of her earliest memories; a more constant presence in her life than even her parents. She would wake from her nightmares in the night, and upon the realization that she could not run to him for comfort, the emptiness would fill her and she would shed silent tears in the dark.

She didn't care if she would need to steal away in the night; she would be going North and no one could stop her. She didn't bother trying to convince Sansa to accompany her; it would be a wasted effort. Arya wasn't worried about leaving her sister with Littlefinger. Arya was no fool; she knew that Baelish would protect Sansa because of her powerful position as heir to the North. But Arya was not safe. She also knew that Littlefinger held no care for her and there was no telling how long she would be safe with him.

* * *

When the ship landed on The Fingers, Arya was much less surprised than Sansa. She had suspected something like this would happen. They were not as far North as Arya would have liked; she hoped to at least make it past the Neck. This did not discourage her for she would do whatever it took to make her way North to Jon. It was a curious thing; once she had decided to go North, the inevitability of their meeting was the lens she viewed the world through. Every tack the ship made, every step, every night she slipped into an uneasy sleep only brought her closer. She felt that she could bear the weight of the world across her narrow shoulders if it would help her reach him.

* * *

The man caught Arya's wrist as she made to leave the ship.

"No goodbye for your friend?" He smiled at her, his suntanned skin wrinkling around his dark eyes.

Arya was suddenly overcome with emotion. The man knew her little and she knew him less, but the time they spent together - her lessons - was a connection to a time that was lost to her forever. If she closed her eyes when they were practising, she could almost imagine she was with Syrio during her first weeks in King's Landing. Sansa was happy. Her family was alive. Her father waited in the next room. And Arya was still an innocent.

Tears stung her eyes as she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. The display of affection was out of place for their small friendship, but what he had given her held meaning beyond the technical skills she learned to hone.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Nonsense, little lady," his Braavosi accent bent the words strangely, bringing back sharp memories of Syrio. "It has been a honor to teach you. You helped pass the time on this miserable ship."

"If it's so miserable, why are you here?"

"After we leave this port, we sail to Braavos. I hope to return."

"Has Braavos always been your home?" Arya was curious; these were the first details she had ever learned about her friend.

"For many years now it has been the city where I reside," he got a faraway look in his eyes. "The place that I came from before holds no meaning now; but I have no home."

"How is Braavos not your home?"

"I am just a man. A man does not have a home just as he does not have a name."

"Who _are_ you?" Arya voiced the one question she had ever wanted an answer to.

"Only a friend," he smiled again. Something in his eyes warned Arya not to ask again. "I have a gift for you before you depart."

"You didn't need -" Arya was embarrassed. She didn't think gifting was part of their friendship.

"You needn't worry, I gift you with an opportunity." He placed something small and round in her hand. An iron coin with markings that arya did not understand.

"I don't understand." _How is an iron coin an opportunity? It's useless._

"If you ever wish to continue your training, give this coin to any man from Braavos and tell him these words: _valar morghulis._"

Arya scrunched up her face at the strange language. "What does it mean?"

"It matters not what it means, little lady, only where it will take you. Don't lose it."

"I - thank you," Arya didn't know what to make of the coin, but it was clear that the man was serious, so she tucked the coin safely into her pocket.

"Tell me the words. I want to make sure you know them."

Arya took a small breath, preparing to twist her tongue around the strange phrase.

_"Valar morghulis."_

* * *

The moment Arya and Sansa left the ship, Lord Baelish accosted the Stark girls.

"You will be needing new names," he said without preamble.

"But I don't - " Sansa began before Arya shot her a pointed look. Arya's sister was many things - kind, caring, courteous, charming - but she was not cut out for this much intrigue and deception. She spent more time at court than Arya, but while Arya's time in the snakepit involved much careful observation of those that surrounded her, Sansa's focus was on day to day survival. How to keep her head down and her chin up at the same time. Courtesy was an armor that would do little when the crown was hunting them from the Reach to the Wall.

"You will have new names, my lady, so I suggest you accept that fact." Lord Petyr was more short than usual, the stress of the situation and Sansa's naivete was clearly wearing him down.

"We accept it," Arya cut in, taking charge as usual. "What are they?"

"Sansa, you will become Alayne, my bastard daughter. Arya, you will be Lynea, Alayne's maid. Are they any objections?"

Sansa shook her head but Arya swelled with indignation. She didn't want to be a maid, but then again, she supposed that was better than being Lord Baelish's bastard daughter, so she shook her head as well.

Petyr went on to explain his role in Joffrey's death; the whole thing had been his plan all along. Arys was frustrated by that fact. She had always known that things would have unfolded without her help, but she liked knowing she had had a part in it. While the revelation that she had always been under Littlefinger's thumb was equally infuriating and unsettling, Joffrey's eventual death was not the only good thing that had come out of the evening...

_Joffrey's nails drug down the column of his throat, leaving trails that trickled small ribbons of blood. His face grew more purple and Cersei's shrieks grew louder with each passing second. Just as Arya felt that he could surely not last another moment, his frantic eyes found hers. Arya saw his flash of recognition; he recognized the pure, unveiled joy in her expression. As their gazes locked, one corner of Arya's mouth turned up into a satisfied smirk. Her eyes were so steely, so cold, and her smile so twisted - the unadulterated loathing rolled off of her in waves, and she made no effort to hide it. She wanted him to know that it was her, that he was dead and she had made sure it happened. In Joffrey's final moments he raised one shaking arm and weakly pointed at Arya, his eyes still wide with the recognition that the horrors he had visited upon her had come to haunt him._

"You?"_ his eyes seemed to ask her, incredulous._

"Yes, me."_ She gave an imperceptible nod of her head, enjoying every moment of the Boy King's death._

_Arya watched with the frosty smile smile plastered to her face as Tyrion Lannister was arrested. He had been unfortunate to stand directly in front of her; he was short enough that she had the vantage point to lock eyes with Joffrey, but also short enough - and hated enough - to be seized for the murder instead._

_Arya left the feast that night high on the wings of victory. Not only was Joffrey dead, the Imp would surely join him soon._ Cersei, Ser Meryn, Ilyn Payne, the Kingslayer, the Hound. Valar Morghulis.

* * *

Arya and Sansa shared a room that night, and as soon as Arya was sure that her sister had fallen asleep, she slid from her bed, already clothed in the breeches and tunic she stole from the smallest stable boy she could find.

"When will I see you again?" Sansa's faint voice came from her bed. Arya jumped; she had expected to slip away in the night, undetected.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. She couldn't guarantee that she would _ever_ see her sister again. Despite this, Arya knew that there was no way she could live as Petyr Baelish's pawn. Unlike Sansa, she valued her freedom more than her safety.

"You're going to find him, aren't you?" Arys didn't need to ask who "he" was. Both girls knew that the only person Arya would ever run to was Jon.

"I'll always find him."

"And I've always known. I'll miss you, sister." Arya swallowed; she could not allow herself to become uncertain about her decision to leave. It was not in her nature to regret a course of action she was already on.

"And I you."

* * *

She pried the door open to Lord Petyr's quarters as quietly as she could, wincing as it let out a faint squeak. As far as she could tell, there was no one in the room. The bed was smooth and a candle burned low on the mantle. Arya hated to tempt fate like this, sneaking into his room, but she needed coin if she was to buy passage to White Harbor, and she knew for a fact that he kept a large purse in the pockets of his cloak. She crossed the room to the chair it was draped across, quickly finding the hidden pouch and taking a small handful of gold dragons. She'd considered taking the whole purse, but Petyr would be protecting Sansa if nothing else, so she decided he deserved to keep something as a reward for that.

"And what exactly do you think you're doing?" A voice came from the doorway. Arya whipped around to find him standing on the threshold, his face carved with deep shadows from the weak light.

"Leaving," she replied simply. Both of them knew exactly what she was doing.

"No, I don't think you'll be doing that."

"And how do you plan to stop me?" Petyr was in his nightclothes and clearly unarmed. She knew for a fact that he had little defense skill what with his mind being his preferred weapon.

"I've met children larger than you, and you're only a woman. I believe the better question is how do you plan to stop _me_?" He quirked one dark eyebrow, arrogance sweeping across his face. He was sorely underestimating her.

"What do you even want with me?" She asked, trying to distract him as she backed towards the open window, below which she knew there was a not entirely unmanageable, but still dangerous drop to the ground. She could survive it. "We both know that you only ever cared about Sansa."

"Smart girl," the corners of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. "You're right, your sister is the prize, but you have your uses as well."

"And what uses are those?" Arya took another step, but Baelish noticed and took one of his own. Neither wanting to spook the other into more direct action. "I'm heir to nothing, I'm no great beauty, and I'm fairly sure that no Lord would want me for his lady wife. I've never been praised for my lady-like deportment."

"True, your noble birth was wasted upon you," he took another step. "I'm sure Cat was disappointed." Arya flinched, as he surely desired. He had hit a nerve. Most of Arya's memories of her mother were laced with bitterness, and now she would never have the chance to form new ones. And then everything made sense. _Cat,_ he had said. That simple term of endearment giving away the reason for the covetous look in his eyes as he tracked Sansa's every step. Sansa - the spitting image of their mother inside and out. Arya's stomach churned at the realization of his misguided affections.

"Cat," Arya spat, planning to hit some nerves of her own. "You miss her don't you?" She took a step while Baelish closed his eyes in grief. "Does it hurt, knowing that you bended to her will all those years in Riverrun, challenged my uncle to a fight to the death for her hand, pledged your eternal love, and _she still didn't love you?"_ Her voice dripped with vitriol, and she smiled when she watched the pain and anger flash across his face as her words cut him like a whip. She backed towards the window faster until her back pressed against the sill.

"That's why you like to keep Sansa close, isn't it?" There was no stopping now. She needed to get him worked up enough that he would stop paying such close attention to her movements.

"Hold your tongue girl. You have no idea -"

"Oh, Petyr," Arya mocked, cutting him off. "I know exactly what I'm talking about. Do you know what else I know? It's the most pathetic part of all. Sansa, my beautiful sister, so much like your dear Cat, will never _ever_ love you either."

And with that she hauled herself over the windowsill as he charged toward her. Just as she was about to make to drop he grabbed her by her hair and she yelped in pain. Twisting in his grasp, she tried to break his grip, her hair ripping painfully at the roots. He grabbed her upper arm with his other hand and Arya slipped dangerously on the sill. Using all of her resolve she twisted her head downward sharply, a horrific ripping noise came from her scalp, and she bit down hard on his forearm, drawing blood. Baelish howled in pain, releasing her suddenly. She took advantage of the moment and kicked out the leg on his side of the sill, connecting with the side of his skull and sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious. The force of the kick sent Arya flailing backward off the sill. For a moment she was falling freely through the air until the ground rushed up to meet her with a blow that stole her breath and everything went black.

Seconds later Arya gasped struggling to take in air and her vision slowly returned. As soon as she could breathe she looked up to the window. She saw no movement and pushed herself up off the ground as quickly as her spinning head would allow. She winced at the stabbing pain in her side - a broken rib, maybe two. Ignoring the throbbing, she began to run towards the small port as quickly as she could; she could not give whoever Petyr sent time to catch her. She didn't even want to think of what would happen if they did.

* * *

**You know what to do. Come on, show me some love. **

**Also, I'm sure some of you are wondering: "the man" is ****_not _****Jaqen. Since Arya never traveled with Yoren, and never freed Jaqen and his companions in the Gold Cloaks' attack, he perished. I know! It made me sad too. I love Jaqen. But after all, valar morghulis. **


	10. Forever and Ever

**A/N: Another chapter. I've been using writing as procrastination to avoid a huge project I'm supposed to be working on. But I really have to get to work so there probably won't be another update for about two weeks. Sorry!**

**Thank you to anyone who's been reviewing/following/favoriting. Also, I hate to beg for reviews, but I've never written something like this before and I want to know how I'm doing. Is the style okay? The pace? The dialogue? Do you feel like Arya's character feels real? **

**It's all for you...**

* * *

Arya rubbed a strand of her short hair between her fingers. She had cut it to just above her shoulders and tied it back with a scrap of soft leather before finding a ship to take her to White Harbor. With her short hair, slight frame, and ill-fitting clothes she looked like a boy of no more than four and ten - exactly as she had hoped. She smudged her face with dirt and bound her already small breasts tightly as extra insurance. She became Arry, an orphan boy from the Fingers to his way to the wall.

* * *

It cost Arya one of her precious dragons to get passage on a ship. She knew that the captain was cheating her, but she was so desperate to be on her way that she handed over the coin without a second thought. The journey was short, compared to her time on the ship from King's Landing. She spent most of her time alone, avoiding the crew - all men. She was worried that if one of them got too close, they would see right through her feeble disguise. She was under no illusions as to what would happen if a ship full of hardened sailors who had been at sea too long would do if they discovered they had a woman aboard. The very thought sent shivers down her spine and caused memories of Joffrey to come flooding back. She squashed those thoughts as soon as they came to her, locking them away in the deepest part of her mind and hoping they would stay there.

* * *

When she left the ship in White Harbor she was at a loss for what to do next. While she had made it to the North, she had a dangerous journey ahead of her. The Boltons controlled most of the North, and to make it the wall she would have to pass between Winterfell and the Dreadfort - the two most dangerous places for her. She had considering taking another ship to Eastwatch but quickly dismissed that course. She would never find a horse there and there was no way she would survive the journey to Castle Black. There was really only one thing to do. She would have to steal a horse, for she didn't have enough money to purchase one that would survive the trip and still get food and a cloak warm enough to protect her. As it was, she would most likely end up stealing everything she needed.

Arya was headed for a local inn and tavern to find herself a horse when she saw her face. It wasn't really her face, but there, on a piece of parchment haphazardly tacked to the door of the tavern, was her face. When she walked up to it, it was easy to see the words below the rough sketch. According to the paper, she was wanted by the crown for treason. The reward for her return was 1,000 gold dragons. Arya's heart began to pound and she looked around warily before ripping the poster down and stuffing it in her bag. She needed to get out of White Harbor _now_. She may be posing as a boy, but it was a poor disguise at best and it was only a matter of time until someone recognized her.

She walked quickly around to the stables behind the inn, pulling the hood of her stolen cloak up to hide her face. Fortunately, there were no stable boys in sight, but there were few horses to choose from, and most of them would never survive the cold she would face north of Winterfell. Winter was truly coming - Arya could feel it in her bones - and she was becoming more and more worried as to what she would face as she went north. Winter was not kind to those who traveled off the main road without shelter. She finally settled on the sturdiest horse - it looked to be at least part garron which was as close as she could get to a real horse of the far north. Looking around once more, Arya quickly saddled the gelding and securely attached her satchel, heavy with freshly stolen food from the marketplace - onto the back. Just as she was mounting, the stable boy returned.

"Wha-" the boy began, but Arya didn't give him a chance to finish, for she galloped straight toward him. He jumped out of the way just in time and Arya spurred the horse to as fast a gallop it could manage on the cobbled streets.

Townsfolk lept out of her path as she sped towards the northern edge of the city. As far as she could tell she wasn't being followed, which was fortunate because garrons were not known for their speed. She hit the forest that bordered the White Knife and slowed to a trot; it wouldn't do to overtire her horse now for she had a long journey ahead of her.

* * *

On the fifth day Arya discovered she had eaten the last of her food.

* * *

On the seventh day, Arya admitted that she needed to steal more food. She was hungry, but she'd been hungrier. Her hunger strike during her captivity in the Capitol had taught her what real hunger was like. But she was nearing Winterfell, and once she passed the castle that had once been her home, temperatures would fall rapidly, and the ground would be too frozen to dig for the roots that had been her only sustenance for two days. She knew the North well, and she was fairly sure that there was a small village less than a half day's ride further. Arya was ashamed at planning to steal from the smallfolk. These were her people, people who had once depended on her family for protection, and they would need every scrap of food they had to survive the winter. There were many things she'd had to justify lately. Stealing a horse, a cloak, and food from White Harbor, leaving Sansa with Lord Baelish, killing Ser Dontos. She didn't have to justify Joffrey's death or the impending execution of the Imp. Those only brought a smile to her face. She'd added Littlefinger and the Bolton bastard, but removed two names from her prayer as well. Things could be worse.

* * *

As Arya rode past Winterfell, she had to resist the urge to storm through its gates and slit Ramsay Bolton's throat herself. She'd never make it out alive, but she could imagine the shock in his eyes and the blood on her hands, and it was almost enough to make her give in. The revenge would have been so sweet. Almost sweet enough that she wouldn't mind death. She had so little left to live for. But she had something, someone, and she was so close to being with him once more. _Oh Jon,_ she thought, _do you miss me as I miss you? Do you dream of me? Do you wake in the night and rise to look for only to realize that I'm not there?_ Arya's days were long with no one but the horse for company. She rode slowly, trying to save the horse's strength for when he would really need it - in the deep snows between the Last River and the Wall. And so, she spent many hours lost in her mind, in her memories.

_"Jon?" Arya asked, her head in his lap as they sat in the Godswood._

_Jon's pants were rolled up to his knees, his feet dangling into the warm water. Arya lay parallel to the bank, one arm stretched out, trailing her fingers across the surface. It was one of their last days before the King would come, before everything would change._

_"Hmm?" He responded, brushing some hair from her face._

_"Will you tell me a story?"_

_"You're too old for stories."_

_"You can never be too old for a story. Besides, you won't say no, will you?"_

_Jon laughed, "When do I ever say no, little sister? What do you want to hear?"_

_"The day I was born."_

_"How many times have I told you that one? It must be at least a dozen."_

_"Can you tell me again?"_

_"The day you were born is my earliest memory, I suppose," Jon sighed slipping into the past. "Lady Catelyn was in the birthing bed for two days - even then you were stubborn. It was snowing, harder than it's supposed to snow in Summer. You may have been born in Summer, but that day, I swear it could have been Winter. That's what you are, you know? Winter's child. I sat in the hall with Robb and Father; Sansa was just a babe, too young to wait with us. When your mother's screaming stopped, I heard your first cry, louder than you had any right to be. Maester Luwin came out into the hall, blood on his hands and called for Father. _You have a daughter,_ he said. Robb pouted; he was hoping for another brother. I just wanted to see you, but I was afraid. Even then, I knew your mother would never welcome me. Father came back out into the hall several minutes later with a bundle in his arms. _Do you want to hold her?_ Robb said no. I said yes. Father made sure I wouldn't drop you. You were so small for a newborn, you've always been small, and I was afraid I would break you-"_

_"I'm not small!"_

_"Be quiet," Jon smiled down at her. "Do you want me to finish or not?"_

_"Yes..."_

_"I didn't know what to think about you. You were just small and pink and crying. But then you opened your eyes. Gray, just like mine. And finally I didn't feel so alone. I had you. We were the same. And then you stopped crying. You just looked at me. _She's yours,_ Father said."_

_"I'm still yours," Arya twined her fingers with his, smiling brightly._

_"Forever and ever?" Jon asked like he used to when they were little._

_"Forever and ever."_

* * *

Arya stole more food from Wintertown - enough to last her more than the week it took to make it to the Last River. She stood on the bank, holding her horse by the bridle, with wide eyes. The river, normally just shallow enough to cross on horseback was swollen and frozen. She looked to her horse, the strong beast that had carried her so far would never make it across. He was far too heavy and his hooves would punch holes right through the ice. Arya debated heading west along the bank up into the mountains where she could find a crossing, but she didn't have enough food to last her the time it would take her to make the journey.

She turned to the horse and removed the bridle and saddle, unburdening the beast.

"Well," she began, as if it could understand her. "It was nice knowing you." And with that she slapped him hard on his rump to send him galloping off into the trees. She was alone.

Arya slung her pack over her shoulder and placed one foot tentatively onto the ice, and then another.

There was a loud popping noise - the ice cracking under the surface. Arya removed her pack quickly. She was light, but the pack added too much weight. With as much strength as she could muster, she slid the pack across the ice until it bumped into the bank. She took one more step, and then another.

The ice popped again and Arya swallowed nervously. She took another step, treading as lightly as she could.

She was only five feet from the opposite bank when her left foot punched a hole through the ice. Arya fell forward hard, and the ice shattered under her weight. The water was colder than she could have imagined. It was if her breath froze in her lungs. Every muscle in her body seized. Black spots appeared in her vision. The current dragged her sideways and she almost let go of the hold she had on the lip of the ice. _No!_ Her mind screamed. _Don't let go!_ It took every ounce of strength she had, but she pulled a dagger from her belt and lodged it in the ice, giving herself leverage to pull herself from the freezing water.

Arya lay there on the ice until her breath came rushing back, hitting her like a wall. She half crawled half dragged her body onto the bank. She shivered so violently that she thought every bone in her body would surely shatter. She was so cold. Everything hurt. _Please, oh dear Gods, let me die_. Her vision went black as she lost consciousness.

* * *

When Arya came to, her wet clothes and hair had frozen stiff. It was light out, but she had no way of knowing if it was the same day, or the next day, or days after. She was so cold. She considered lying back down on the frozen ground and giving up, going to join her family with the Gods, but Jon's face flashed through her mind, and she hauled herself to her feet. Swaying unsteadily, she hefted her pack onto her shoulders and began to trudge through the light snow until she was under the cover of the forest. Her stomach growled painfully, and without thinking, she cut the bark from one of the trees and put it in her mouth. The bark was tougher than old leather, but it would help stave off starvation for a little while. She had very little food left and she refused to eat it until she would surely die without sustenance.

* * *

Two, maybe three days of unsteady trekking through snow later, Arya collapsed from exhaustion. She had not rested since awakening on the riverbank. She was afraid that if she stopped moving she would freeze to death. But every muscle in her body ached and her vision was blurred and her head felt so light from the lack of food. _Just for a little while,_ she thought to herself, _I'll only rest for a minute._

* * *

Arya awoke to warm breathing in her ear. She sat up in confusion, and turned to see her horse nuzzling against her side. _How?_ She didn't know what to think. Last time she had seen the beast he was galloping away from her into the forest. He must have found some way to cross and by some miracle or gift of the Gods, he made it to her. _Thank you,_ Arya thought, hoping that someone, somewhere heard her prayer. She pulled herself to her feet, and mounted the horse with all the strength she had left. She fisted her hands securely in it's mane; the hair was so tangled and matted that it wasn't hard to embed her hands so deeply she could scarcely free them. She jabbed her heels into the horse's flanks as hard as she could and slumped forward against it's neck as it took off to the north with more speed than she would have thought possible.

* * *

Arya went in and out of consciousness. All she knew was that the horse had not stopped and all she could see was white. Deep white snow on the ground and too much snow falling from the dark clouds. It was always the same. _I'm coming, Jon._

* * *

As the horse carried her north, Arya dreamed.

_"There will never be a day when I will not belong to you."_

_"I could not own you."_

_"But you always have."_

_"Then you can't ever leave me."_

_"I could never leave you. You're a part of me."_

_"Do you love him?"_

_"No."_

_"Do you hate me?"_

_"I don't know."_

_"Do you love me?"_

_"Always."_

_"Where are we going?"_

_"Home," he answered._

_"I don't have a home anymore."_

_"You'll always have a home."_

_"Where?"_

_"With me."_

_"It hurts."_

_"Just a little longer, little sister."_

_"I can't do it anymore."_

_"You have to. Just a little longer."_

_"Don't leave me, Arya. Don't you dare leave me."_

_"I'm so sorry."_

_"No! Please. They need you. I need you."_

_"Let me go."_

_"I can't."_

_"I'll be waiting for you."_

_"I can't lose you."_

_"You're not losing me. I'll always find you, Jon."_

* * *

Jon stood on one of the battlements, squinting his eyes against the onslaught of frigid wind and snow.

"What is that?" His steward asked.

"I don't know," Jon answered. He craned his neck to try and get a better look at the approaching spot on the southern horizon. Suddenly, it came into focus. "It's a horse!"

"How could there be a horse in this? I've heard the storm made it impossible."

"I don't know how, but there's someone coming." Jon took the stairs two at a time, rushing out into the yard with several of his brothers in tow. He craned his neck and squinted his eyes, trying to see more, but the fat snowflakes swirling around him made that impossible.

"There's a rider!" The boy beside him, Satin, shouted with disbelief in his voice.

Jon realized that he was right, there was a rider slumped against the horse's neck, so bundled in their furs that it was impossible to see who they were, or it they were even alive. Just as the horse came to a slow a few feet from the small group of Jon and his men, the rider fell, and landed limply in the snow. Two of the men ran forward as Jon and the rest looked on with apprehension.

"Is he alive?" Jon called to them, walking slowly ahead.

"I'm not sure it's a he, mi'Lord," his brother answered as he pulled the hood from the rider's face. When their profile was exposed, Jon's stomach lurched. He knew that face. The dark hair, upturned nose, and small chin.

Jon let out a strangled noise and crashed forward, shoving his brothers out of the way, and pulling her small frame into his arms. Her eyes were closed and her lips were a frightening shade of blue. _Gods, she's so cold. Too cold._

"Arya!" Jon sobbed, tears that he didn't even realize he had shed freezing on his cheeks. "Arya, wake up!"

Her eyes fluttered, opening just a bit to expose the gray that mirrored his own. Her frozen lips parted slightly, and she spoke so softly that Jon might have thought he imagined it if he weren't holding her so close.

"I found you."

* * *

**Thank's for reading! I am so happy they've been reunited. I've been waiting for this for so long, as I know some of you have been as well. **

**Coming up: some happiness and then some angst. but not the traumatizing kind like the beginning of the story, don't worry. **

**reminder: two week-ish break coming up. I'll miss you!**


	11. Pull Away

**A/N: Well, here we are. I finished the work I needed to, so here's a new chapter. It's a bit of a filler, but necessary for the development of the plot. **

* * *

Jon was exhausted. He'd sat by her side for a week now, only sleeping when his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. In truth, he was afraid to sleep because he feared that he would wake to find that it was all a dream, and he'd once again be alone in a cold room, missing her.

She'd changed so much since they had parted ways on the Kingsroad over a year ago. She was so much older - he could barely call her "little sister" now. When she was taken into Castle Black he wouldn't allow any of the men to touch her. He didn't trust them, but there was something deeper, a primal need to protect that caused him to carry her limp body to his chambers and bolt the door behind him.

* * *

He stripped her of her many furs. They were almost frozen solid, as if she had dunked them in water before braving the Northern snows. He removed the filthy clothes underneath, leaving her in her small clothes to preserve her modesty as he bathed her. He had seen her without clothing before, but it just didn't feel right to invade her privacy like that while she was unconscious. The light fabric did not stop him from noticing how thin she was. Every rib, every bump of her spine, was clearly visible under her porcelain skin. Her limbs folded upon themselves reminding him of a bird, her shoulder blades sticking out so sharply that they resembled wings. Jon sucked in a deep breath when he saw them - silvery pink scars crisscrossing her back. _What did they do to you?_ Jon shed a single tear at the evidence of his sister's torture. His Arya was too young - too sweet - to be subjected to the horrors that earned her those scars.

He laid her on the bed, tucked the furs tightly around her and built a large fire in the hearth. He pulled a chair to her bedside and waited. He was still in that chair seven days later when a small moan brought him out of the listless state he'd been in as he waited for her to wake.

"Arya?" Jon asked, leaning forward eagerly and grasping her hand. He brushed the hair off her sweaty brow.

"It's so warm," she croaked.

"Oh Arya!" Jon cried, pulling her into his arms and kissing the top of her head.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jon," she let out a raspy laugh. "You don't have to smother me."

Jon realized how tightly he was holding her and released his grip slightly. "How do you feel?" He felt like some sort of mother hen, fussing over her as he was.

"Like I'm back from the dead. What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"I remember riding that bloody horse through the bloody snow." Jon grinned at her swearing; she had never been the most ladylike lady. "And now I'm here. So I ask again, what happened?"

"You rode into the courtyard and collapsed. You were unconscious," Jon looked down, his voice cracking. "I thought you were dead."

Arya reached out and placed her hand on his cheek, always knowing just how to comfort him. "I'm right here, Jon. I'm not going anywhere."

"You'd better not." He smiled brokenly at her, still battling his emotions.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"A week."

"A week!" Arya shot up in bed, and then collapsed again, not strong enough to support her own weight. "Let me guess, you haven't left that chair?" Even in her weakened state, Arya's knowing look cut right through him. He'd never been able to hide anything from her.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, avoiding her question.

"Starved," she replied. Jon cringed internally; she looked as if she really had been starved. "Can I have a bath?"

"Of course, I'll have Satin bring water for you."

"Satin?" Arya asked quirking an eyebrow.

"One of my brothers. He's the only one I trust with you."

"What do you mean?"

Jon looked down, not sure how to phrase his response. "There aren't a lot of women at the Wall," he gazed at her meaningfully.

He saw the recognition in her eyes as she paled considerably and seemed to curve in on herself. Jon once again found himself wondering just what had befallen his sister at the hands of the Lannisters.

* * *

When Jon returned, Arya was in the bath, steam rising from the hot water. He immediately blushed and looked away. _Gods,_ Arya thought, _he blushes like a maiden._ Arya smiled; Jon had always been shy. She had missed that.

"Really, Jon," She rolled her eyes at him. "Relax."

* * *

He slowly turned back around and placed the tray of food on the table and went to sit on the bed, continuing to look anywhere but at her.

Arya cleared her throat, trying to get his attention.

"Jon," she called to him in a small voice. "Would you bring me a robe?"

Jon swallowed, asking himself why his little sister was making him so nervous. He rose quickly and grabbed his robe from its hook on the wall. He tried to look away as she rose from the water, but he could not help noticing the way the drops of water rolled down her pale skin. How despite her emaciated state, she clearly had a woman's body.

"Thank you," she turned to smile at him, pulling him from his dangerous train of thought.

"Of course," he held out his arm to guide her to the bed; her strength was minimal at best and he was afraid she would hurt herself.

"I'm not going to break, Jon," she giggled. She was always mocking him.

"Are you sure?" he looked pointedly and her bony arm wrapped around his.

"Shut up." Jon laughed. Arya always said that when she knew she had lost an argument.

He sat on the edge of the bed with her and fed her small bites of food. She couldn't handle much, her stomach shrunken from so long with barely anything to eat. When she yawned deeply, he noticed the purple circles under her eyes.

"You're tired." It was not a question.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Shut up."

Jon shook his head with a small smile and got up from the bed, crossing the room to his dresser. He grabbed one of his tunics and tossed it in her direction.

"You can sleep in this, if you'd like."

When he turned around, Arya had already slipped it over her head and was crawling back under the large pile of furs and shivering from the cold without a robe. Her eyes started to droop and Jon settled himself back into his chair, ready to continue his vigil.

"Will you sleep with me?" Her sleepy voice was muffled by the furs pulled up to her chin.

"I -" Jon hesitated.

"Please?" She asked in a voice so small and weak that his heart lurched. "It's so cold."

Jon rose from his chair, and pulled his tunic off before sliding in beside her. He leaned over and blew out the candle, bathing the room in darkness except for the faint glow from the fire. Arya curled into his side, and he flinched at the touch of her cold hands.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, pulling them away.

"Don't be stupid," he used one of her favorite sayings and smiled, although she could not see it in the dark. He caught her small hands and cupped them between his larger ones. He blew his warm breath onto them until her fingers lost their icy touch. Once they were warm, her let her slide her hands back under the furs, and she wrapped her arms tightly around him, as if she was afraid to let him go. "I'm right here," he whispered into her hair, mimicking her earlier words. "I'm not going anywhere."

Just when he thought she had slipped into sleep, he felt her warm breath against his neck.

"I missed you," she whispered quietly. Jon tightened his arms around her. _A__nd I you, Arya._

* * *

When Arya opened her eyes to weak morning light filtering through the solitary window in Jon's quarters she was alone. She shivered under the heavy furs. Despite their weight, she was cold without the warmth that Jon brought. Arya lay in bed for a little while, not sure what else to do - Jon had made her promise not to leave the room, and she had no intention of breaking their agreement. After a short time, for she could never stay still for long, she sat up in the bed, pleased to find herself stronger than the night before. _The window, I just want to look out the window._ She sat on the edge of the mattress with her skinny legs dangling over the side. Her pale feet didn't reach the ground, so she had to push herself off, but when her feet hit the cold stone she collapsed, landing on her hands and knees painfully, surely leaving bruises.

Arya crawled across the floor and pulled herself up to look out the window. The snow was falling so heavily that she could barely see, but it made her miss Winterfell. A small tear fell unbidden from her eye and she wiped it away furiously. She didn't cry anymore.

* * *

Jon found Arya sitting with her legs to her chest on the stone floor beneath the window, shivering. She still wore his tunic, and it was not long enough to cover the way her bony knees knocked together.

"Arya!" Jon sighed exasperatedly and shook his head. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I wanted to look out the window," she snapped with a ferocity that didn't match her frail appearance.

"But why are you sitting on the floor?" Jon knew exactly why she was sitting on the floor. She had most likely crawled from the bed - if her scuffed knees were any indication - but didn't have enough strength to get herself back. Whatever had happened to Arya left her very weak.

"Maybe I like it here," she retorted.

"Let me help you," Jon had hoped to get her to admit her foolishness in getting back to bed, but he couldn't stand to see her shivering against the cold stone any longer. Castle Black could chill a man to his bones with a hundred furs about his shoulders, and Arya was only wearing a thin tunic.

"I don't need your help." Jon rolled his eyes. She was always stubborn and rarely surrendered her pride.

"Then get up and walk to me." He watched her eyes narrow, realizing he trapped her on purpose. When she didn't answer, he crossed the room and lifted her small body into his arms and deposited her in the bed.

She scowled at him the whole way, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Really, Arya," Jon smiled, knowing it would annoy her. "You don't have to be so bitter. Just thank me and be done with it."

"Thank. You." She ground out. She was the most stubborn person he had ever met.

"You're ever so welcome, my lady," he mocked her, enjoying their game.

Arya seemed to decide she didn't want to lose again, so she changed the subject. "Where were you?"

"I'll tell you if you get back under the furs," he bargained. He always had to fight her for every inch when she was like this. He felt as if he had won a great battled when she pulled the furs around her with a small frown on her pretty mouth. "I was meeting with Stannis."

Arya cocked her head in confusion, "Stannis is here?"

"Yes. He came to help with the wildling problem."

"What problem?"

"An uprising. They tried to take over the wall."

"What did you do?"

"Some joined us, some surrendered," he paused.

"And you killed the rest." She stated simply with an unsettling coolness.

"Yes." Jon frowned; there was not a day his heart did not ache for people who had only wanted to escape the horrors of the coming winter.

"You did what you had to do."

Jon raised his eyes to meet hers, glad to see understanding instead if the disappointment he held for himself. "I suppose."

"Well you did. You would have died if you hadn't, and then where would I be?"

There were few things that she could have said to lighten the load their discussion placed on his shoulders, but realizing that Arya could have arrived to find him dead and with no one to welcome her but wildlings made him regret things just a bit less.

"Are you hungry?" Jon asked after he built a large fire in the hearth, glad to see Arya stop shivering like a leaf in the wind.

She nodded her head. The furs were pulled up to her nose.

"I'll go get some food," He opened the door then looked back and tried to sound as threatening as possible. "Don't you dare leave that bed."

"Yes, my lord," he heard her mumble through the furs. She never missed an opportunity to tease him good naturedly. He closed the door behind him, confident that she would not get out of the bed - she would not suffer the humiliation of not being able to get back again.

* * *

As Jon walked back from the kitchens with a tray laden with watery soup and tough bread - the best they had - Melisandre came around the corner towards him. The red woman made his skin crawl; she was always watching him with something hidden and predatory.

"So you have your little wolf back," She smiled widely, her teeth looking almost too white and too sharp.

"Yes," Jon replied carefully. "My sister has returned."

"Your sister," she raised an eyebrow, giving him a look that spoke volumes without telling him anything. "Of course."

"I'm sorry, my lady," he spoke with forced courtesy as he skirted around her. "I must be going."

"No matter. Give the her my best."

* * *

Jon tried not to think on his strange conversation with Melisandre - as he usually did when he had the bad fortune of running into her - as he opened the door to return to Arya. She was curled into a little ball in the center of the bed, deeply asleep. He hated to wake her, but the soup was hot and the warm liquid would do her good.

"Arya," Jon laid his hand on her shoulder. "Arya wake up."

She mumbled something unintelligible and rubbed her eyes.

"What is that smell?"

"Food, unfortunately."

"Oh well," she shrugged. "Better than nothing, I suppose."

* * *

Three days later, Arya sat with Jon in two chairs beside the fire. She wore another of his tunics - they seemed to be her only clothes - and had one of the bed furs wrapped around her. They sat there in companionable silence until he asked the one question she had been dreading since her arrival.

"What happened in King's Landing?"

"Nothing. They killed father. But you already knew that." He tilted his head to the side slightly, clearly unsatisfied with her response.

"I saw them."

"Saw what?" The scars.

"You know what."

"So what's your point?"

"Who did that to you?" His rage was clearly simmering just below the surface. His hands gripped the armrests of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"The King's Guard." She watched Jon grind his teeth. She knew that would bother him deeply. Jon was the type of man who liked to believe in the honor of knights, and the King's Guard, and especially the Night's Watch. He had clearly already realized that the Watch held little honor, but it seemed he still held out hope for the others.

"At whose command?"

"Who do you think?"

"I'll kill that little shit myself."

"No," Arya's eyes flicked up to meet his with a fire. "He's mine." She saw an expression that she could not place flash across his face. As if he didn't recognize her. But just as quickly, it was gone.

"Did they do anything else?" She knew what he meant, but she couldn't tell him yet. That memory was still locked away, and it would stay that way.

"No."

"I don't believe you."

"I said no."

Arya expected him to press her more, but he just looked at her with a despair that broke her heart. She let the furs drop from her shoulders and padded to where he sat, head in his hands. She knelt before him, flinching as her bare knees met cold stone.

"Jon," She spoke his name with so much sadness, trying to convey so much with a single word.

"I'm sorry," he whispered so quietly she couldn't be sure he had even spoken.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" She placed one hand on his knee, the other reaching up to brush his dark curls away so she could see his eyes.

"I didn't save you."

"I'm safe now, aren't I?"

He met her gaze - gray to gray. "No one will hurt you."

"Of course not," she said in a comforting tone, rising from the floor and leading him towards the bed. The hour was late and he wouldn't be so sad in the morning. "Come to bed. I'm tired." If she made it about her, he would not refuse. As she expected, he stripped to his breeches and slipped in beside her as he had for the past few days.

* * *

Arya woke at some time in the night and rolled over to face Jon. The moonlight cast a faint glow on his pale face, exaggerating the shadows. She bit the inside of her cheek when she looked at him under the cover of darkness, not at all sure what she was feeling. There was something about Jon, her Jon, that always gave her pause. Always made her re evaluate her thoughts, her emotions. Everything with Jon was different. He was her brother - but not only that; he was her favorite person, her other half. Everything was complicated. When she was free to look at him, she could see how the bones of his face had become sharper, how a dark shadow covered his jaw - it would be stubble by morning. There was just something so fascinating about him. Despite the features that showed how he had grown into a man, they were still the same in so many ways. The same dark curls, pale skin, long faces, and sad gray eyes.

Her hand moved of its own accord, reaching toward him. She was a mere hair's breadth away from laying her palm on his cheek and letting her thumb land on his lip when she drew it back sharply. She rolled away from him and balled her hands tightly into fists. Arya did not sleep for many hours, but she tried to force the thought - and the instinct - that she had been so close to acting upon from her mind.

* * *

She did not know that Jon awoke when he felt the warmth of her hand hovering over his skin. Did not know that he was wondering why she stopped herself, and why he could he now see how tense the muscles of her back and shoulders were. That he was wishing she had not pulled away.

* * *

**Well there it is folks. Review if you feel so inclined, or just to show me some love. **


	12. Right and Wrong

**A/N: I know I probably lost a lot of readers with that very very long absence. My apologies. I know this is a short chapter, but it has something you've been waiting for ;) **

* * *

"You can't just do that!" Jon shook Arya's shoulders roughly, forcing her to look at him. The icy wind whipped around them, slipping beneath Jon's cloak and chilling him to the bone. He didn't know how Arya could stand it.

"Do what?" Her frustration flashed in her eyes. "Leave the room without you?"

It had been almost a fortnight since Arya first opened her eyes within the walls of Castle Black. Jon had woke in the night to find Arya's side of the bed cold. It didn't worry him at first; she had taken to rising to stand by the window or sit by the low fire. She hadn't clung to him in sleep since the night she had tried to touch his face while she thought he slept, but when Jon realized she wasn't in the room at all, he leapt quickly to his feet and flung his cloak about his shoulders, tearing out into the night to find his sister.

"That's exactly what!" He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked angrily at the ice-coated flagstones of the courtyard. "You know it isn't safe." He had tried to escort Arya everywhere she went. The Watch was no place for a woman, but there was also the added danger of Stannis's presence. He didn't want the Baratheon getting anywhere near his sister. Most swore that Stannis was an honorable man, but Jon wouldn't trust him with something as dear as Arya.

Arya eyed him coldly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't need you to protect me anymore!" She gestured to the sword - Needle - at her hip. The blade looked at home there.

"Carrying a blade doesn't mean you're capable of defending yourself," he was frustrated. Arya seemed to be the same as she had always been, mistaking her own bravado for actual skill and strength. "You need to be prepared to use it."

"I've used it," Arya said calmly, death dripping from her words. Jon shuddered as he realized the meaning of her words.

"You can't mean that you've -"

"That's exactly what I mean, Jon."

"You're too young to kill."

"Not anymore. I've grown up in the past year, brother. I had to do things to survive. King's Landing took more than just my childhood." Jon saw a look pass beneath the surface of her gaze. It was only a moment, but the flash of vulnerability crushed his heart in his chest.

"But you're just a -"

"I'm not!" Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I'm not a child anymore!"

Jon paused, taking in the girl - no, woman - before him. Her face was lean, the cheekbones sharp under the pale skin. Lean muscles in coiled limbs. Slight curves hidden by his comically large breeches she had belted about her waist. A feral snarl curving her upper lip. But it was her eyes; they were cold and steely, both anger and sadness shadowed them in equal measure. They were the eyes of someone who had seen too much.

"No," he sighed. Watching her nostrils flare when she thought he was disagreeing with her. "No, you're not a child."

Arya eyed him warily; he could see that she was disarmed by his assent.

"Just come back inside."

She shook her head.

"_Please?_" Jon pleaded. He watched the snowflakes land on her shoulders and realized that she wore no cloak to shield her from the frozen air.

"Fine," She hissed. Jon smiled. As long as she returned with him, he could bear her anger. "But I want to be allowed to go places by myself."

"No."

"Then I'm not coming."

"_Arya -_"

"You can't make me."

"I can."

"But you won't"

"We'll talk about it in the morning."

"We'll talk about it now."

"Fine. You can go where you want as long as you carry a blade and don't leave the room after dark."

"Why not after - "

"Arya!" Jon roared, losing patience with her quickly. "Please just come inside before you freeze, and you can argue with me all you want."

"Okay." She must have noticed that it was worry, not anger, that caused him to raise his voice.

"Thank you." He removed his cloak and draped it about her thin shoulders, leading her back to his tower.

* * *

No sooner had Jon removed his boots and coaxed the dying fire back to life had Arya decided to forgive him for being so protective. If their positions were reversed, Arya wouldn't let Jon out of her sight. He was too precious. However, she was still on edge from their encounter. For the most part, she had been angry because she felt that he was taking her freedom - something she had fought hard for. But there was a smaller, more secret part of her that wanted him to see her as more than a child. It was the part that held its breath as Jon appraised her and only relaxed when he acknowledged how much she had grown. The part that was still quivering and on fire from the confrontation of its greatest fear. But Jon agreed with her; she was no child. And the secret part of her thrummed with happiness and something she could not place.

"Arya?" Jon called, reclaiming her attention. "Where were you just now?"

"What?"

"You seemed far away. What were you thinking about?" Jon looked genuinely curious, but Arya's stomach rolled with shame at her thoughts. _Why? It's not as if I thought anything wrong._ And she hadn't, but she still felt as if she had. Still felt as if she couldn't tell Jon what was really on her mind.

"Just tired," She flashed him a forced smile. "That's all."

"Then come back to bed." He squeezed her shoulder as he passed her. She turned and watched him strip off his tunic. The muscles in his back rippled slightly under his smooth, pale skin. Out of Jon's line of sight, Arya openly examined the way his dark hair curled at the nape of his neck. How his broad shoulders, toned with ropes of lean muscle, narrowed to his hips. When he turned, she blushed and looked away before he could catch her.

"Are you coming?" Jon asked, coming to stand close in front of her. Arya gulped as her eyes traced the small line of hair that disappeared into the waist of his pants to his navel, as they traveled the planes of his chest and lingered on his mouth before catching his gaze.

"Yes!" She squeaked, internally kicking herself. It was as if the small part of her, the same part that had been in control all those nights ago when she'd fought the urge to touch him in his sleep, was taking over. She didn't understand why she felt this way and tried to squash the strange emotions deep inside before following him back to bed.

* * *

"Arya?" Jon whispered into the dark. He could tell by the irregularity of her breathing that his sister was still awake.

"Hm?" Came the faint reply, closer than he'd thought.

"I - I'm glad you're here." Jon gulped. He was more than glad that she was here. His heart swelled with happiness every morning that he woke to see weak light filtering through the window and illuminating her sleeping face. But when they lay in the dark like this, and he was unable to see or touch her, Jon found himself afraid to let sleep come because he felt as if the only thing holding him to the earth was the soft sound of her breath coming from the other side of the bed.

"I'm glad too," she whispered, and he felt her slide closer on the mattress and her cold feet brush his legs under the furs.

"Arya?" Jon whispered again, this time with uncertainty breaking in his voice.

"Yes, Jon?"

"What happened in King's Landing?" Jon held his breath. He had been waiting weeks to know the answer, but he had only just found the courage to ask the question.

"Many things happened, Jon."

"Did you see father die?" Jon began with the first.

"Yes."

"Did you and Sansa stay in court?"

"Yes, she did."

"And you?" Jon pressed.

"In a manner of speaking." Jon knew his sister; he could read between the lines.

"They imprisoned you?"

"Like a criminal."

"Joffrey had you beaten?" This question was not so easy. He was going down a dangerous path, but now that he was on it, he had to see the end.

"Yes."

"Did he beat you himself?"

"N-no." Arya slipped over her words. She was hiding something.

"Did he touch you?"

"No." A lie. Jon wouldn't - couldn't - let silence fall after that. He didn't want the unspoken truth hanging in the air; it would only drive Arya away. He could try to comfort her - that's all he wanted to do - but he knew the sympathy would only make her run scared.

"Did you know he was going to die?" Jon was genuinely curious. He knew she had a vengeful side, and if the scars on her back were anything to go by, she had good reason to seek vengeance.

"Yes."

"Did you do it?"

"In a roundabout sort of way." He could hear the delight in her voice. Perhaps he should have been more disturbed to hear Arya speak of killing with such pride, but a large part of Jon itched to drag the prince's bones from his tomb in some vindictive attempt to take Joffrey's life himself.

"And why did you leave Sansa?" When Arya had first arrived clinging to her horse with frozen fingers, Jon didn't think of anything but her. But now that the shock of her presence had worn off he found himself curious.

"Because I wanted to be free, and she didn't seem to care." If Jon knew one thing, it was that Arya valued her freedom above perhaps all else. But why come to this frozen corner of humanity with that freedom?

"Was it always your intention to come here, or did you just not have anywhere left to go?" Jon wasn't sure why, but the few short moments following his question caused his heart to pound with fear that she would give the answer he didn't want to hear.

"It has never not been my intention to be with you."

Jon's heart soared. He reached across the small space between them and pulled her into his chest. She softened into his embrace with a small sigh, and he curled around her. Jon felt safer with Arya in his arms. There was no way he could disappear up at the Wall and float off into a Northern storm with her to hold onto. She had always been that anchor for him. Growing up, he was always the outsider, the _Snow_, the unwanted. It would have been easy for him to fade into the background of Winterfell, to become nothing more than a shadow on the great castle's walls, but Arya rescued him from that fate. She made him hers from the very beginning, and it was that - the notion that he had someone to belong to - that had kept him going all these years.

* * *

Arya pulled back slightly from Jon's embrace and squinted into the darkness, struggling to see his face in the weak moonlight. Even in the dim light she could see the happiness shining through his eyes.

"Jon, I -" but Arya's words were cut off as Jon's lips softly pressed against her own. She immediately stiffened against the light touch. This was her brother, and she had never been kissed, and she was hiding out in one of the most unforgiving places she had ever been, and it was so very very wrong, but it was also _right_. And then it was over. Jon's sweet, tentative kiss was over the moment it began, and he pulled away from her.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what -" But she didn't give him a chance to finish.

Arya snaked her hand into his hair and pulled him close, crashing his lips to hers. They met in a fevered embrace of hands and lips and tongues and teeth that burned the Northern chill from her body - her every nerve ending in flames like she had been doused with wildfire. His hands were _everywhere_ - her face, her neck, her hair, flat against the small of her back as he pulled her towards him. Arya's whole body pulsed with heat and she knew that this was the most right thing she had ever done in her life. He was her equal, her other half, her mirror, and the only person she had ever truly loved. He was _her_ Jon, and she wanted to belong to him in every way.

He moved to her neck and she let out a little gasp when his lips landed on her pulse point, sucking gently. She slid her hands down the planes of his chest and across his stomach, feeling the muscles tense under her fingertips. Before she knew what she was doing - for she truly had _no idea_ what she was doing - her nimble fingers were pulling at the laces of his trousers, feeling the hardness beneath the fabric.

He pulled away so quickly Arya was left breathless. Already she felt too cold, too incomplete without his touch.

"Arya, no," he said firmly, although she could hear his voice shaking. "We can't. I shouldn't have kissed you."

Arya's mind was reeling. _No! Why doesn't he want this?_

"But Jon -" she prepared to argue, taking a deep breath. How could he fight this? How could he fight _them_?

"Don't fight me on this, please. We just can't." She felt his weight on the mattress shift as he rolled onto his back, farther away from her. "_Go to sleep, Arya._" His whispered voice cut through the heavy silence that hung between them.

Arya bit her lip to keep from gasping as the weight of his dismissal hit her like a blow to the chest. She rolled into a ball on her side, her back to him, and slammed her eyes shut tightly to keep the hot tears of rejection from escaping. For the first time in so long, for just a moment, everything had felt right again. The world had turned back on its axis. Hope, love, and passion - emotions that she had almost forgotten the feeling of - began to glow inside her like a candle. And then Jon snuffed it out.

* * *

**If you're still out there - after I dropped off the face of the earth for quite a while - drop me a line? I hope that kiss lived up to your expectations. **

**xx **


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